


Through The Mirror

by Havoc_Kenway



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Dumb Female OC, F/M, Honestly just read it please, I'm trash give me a chance, M/M, Magic, Portals, Well not really dumb just oblivious, lovesick puppies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 00:58:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10374237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havoc_Kenway/pseuds/Havoc_Kenway
Summary: A powerful sorceress named Marie made it her long life's work to find alternate dimensions. However, instead of hopping in a Tardis, she decides to explore the magical possibilities. After long years of practice, she finally creates a ritual that will turn her mirror into a portal to an unknown world. The ritual goes well- too well, as a mysterious man from said unknown world falls through her portal! Hilarity ensues.





	1. Miscommunication

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii guys! This is my first time posting any of my writing, so I'm a little nervous! I'll try to keep the intro short, I don't want to bore you just yet! Anywho, this is one of my many stories, and I've decided to make it a little easier on myself by not having to make it as long as a book! I still want people to read and love it, however, so here I am! Please enjoy!
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc

She pushes passed the thick, deep-red, velvet drapes in the doorway of her Spell Room, careful not to set them aflame with the Rosemary candle in her hands. She drips the hot wax around the rim of her pentagram rug, as the spell required, careful to keep the line unbroken. After checking on the large Quartz pillar and the small citrines and kyanites and tigerstones, she ceremoniously steps into the large circle, grasping her blessed blade tightly as she murmurs the incantation.

"Tutores autum ventus, et aqua, et ignis, et terra." She points to each respective candle with the blade.   
"Ego loquor ad te ur da mihi haec porta in mea mandus, mea manibus, esse dispensata cum meis magica." 

She checks to make sure the four candles around the circle were still burning strong, then takes a deep, shaky breath as she steps out of the circle. She drags the razor sharp blade across three of her finger tips, on her non-dominant hand as called for. She quakes as the blood wells, quickly tracing the pencil marks on the mirror in front of her. She had originally intended to have the sigil memorized, but the full moon had come sooner than she had expected. Although, after tracing it with her own blood, she would be hard pressed to try and forget it. She mumbles the sealing words.

"Adiuro vos." 

Suddenly the mirror glows with an eerie, yellow light around the sigil and the frame. Much to her surprise, the sigil fades away, and the mirror no longer reflects her, but has a strange, liquid opal quality. She gazes at it wondrously, and reaches out to touch the surface.

She barely has time to react when a figure falls from the mirror, snuffing the candles out with a blast of controlled wind before she knocks the north one down in her tumble. The figure falls heavily onto her, and she wheezes as the air is forced from her lungs and the stem of the north candle bites into her hip. The figure groans, a male voice. She is careful to stay still as he rises off of her, his arms on either side of her chest. She moves only to shift her weight off of the candle and feels her face redden at their proximity. He looks around, bewildered, before looking down at her. She sucks in a sharp breath, noticing his handsome features with wide eyes and a blush in her cheeks. 

The man realizes their positions and scrambled to stand, his caramel eyes darting around the room. She scurries backwards into the center of the pentagram, examining him. She takes in his longish, coal-black hair, the slight stubble on his sharp, strong jaw, the unknown but slightly medieval castle garb, and she shudders with realization. 

She did it. 

She finally contacted another realm. 

His clothes are ornate, but the fabric and gems are unknown to her. She openly gapes at him, not noticing his own revelation. He stands back from her, something akin to awe on his face. "You're a witch?" He hisses, his accent unfamiliar and his deep voice shaking the very ground. At least, it felt that way. She doesn't respond, too stunned to register his words. Was that old British? No, too sharp. It is only when he turns to touch the mirror, the portal, that she makes the room go cold, the candles on the tables are suddenly snuffed and the mirror no longer glows. 

She rises elegantly, but due to her very short stature, it is slightly anticlimactic. He is a full foot taller than her, most likely more, and at least three times larger. But she has powers, and she rolls up her long sleeves in precaution. He seems to understand her actions, backing to the mirror and frowning rather comically when he can’t get through. "It bends to my will. If I do not permit you to leave, you will not," she says, her voice melodic but somehow sharp, with a slight Italian accent. 

He watches her, his eyes that of a warrior, but his gait that of a prince. She stands tall, regally crossing her arms and smirking at his caution. "I did not bring you here to kill you, per piacere, will you lower your guard?" Her voice is now soft, floating through the air like the scent of freshly baked sweets. The man looks at her, perplexed, but she can see his tension ebb away. He stands tall as well, which is very impressive, looking at her with the gaze of royalty. She now has no doubts of his blue blood. Her delicate brow arches in curiosity, looking him up and down again. 

"Your highness," she says with a satirical bow, both of them knowing it’s a jab more than a sign of respect. His eyes widen, his princely expression faltering. "How do you know...?” He trails off, looking around, unsure. "Who are you? Where am I?" he asks hastily, though there is no fear in his eyes, just determination. Her expression softens, gliding over to him. "I am Marie." The name causes him to shiver. "I am a sorceress, a very powerful one." 

She glances to the mirror. 

"Perhaps the most powerful one." She turns back to him, a smirk slipping back onto her face. "As to where you are, well you are in my Spell Room, which is in my house, which is… on the planet Earth," she explains carefully, watching his expression. Shock is the first one. "I am no longer on Zaii?" His teeth worry at his lip. She inclines her head slightly, her emerald eyes laced with curiosity. "Zaii?" She asks simply. He looks from her to the mirror, then studies her for a moment. "I-i can't truly explain it," he says after a moment. "But I command you to take me back to Zaii." He says this with so much authority that her first thought was to look outside the window to see the position of the moon. 

"I cannot. The moon has to be in a higher position. We will have to wait until the next full one," she explains quickly, glancing back at him. He looks at her incredulously. "How long until the next one?" he asks. She purses her lips, irritated at his mistrust. "If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be speaking. I can give you something to not trust me for, if you'd like." Her voice is loud, but not abrasive. She glares at him, daring him to challenge her. To her surprise, he meets her fiery gaze with one of equal fervor. "I have been taken from my home by your evil witchcraft and you have the gall to reprimand me for not trusting you?" He bristles, circling around her.

Her hands are suddenly enveloped with flames. Her expression is that of calm rage, and for the first time since he fell through that mirror she sees fear in his eyes. It is fleeting however, soon covered by a courageous mask. She smirks, her flames doused by her satisfaction of his fear. She begins to clean up, picking up the north candle and removing the wax from the rug with a simple snap of her fingers. She sets the north candle back into place, crossing to the bookshelf that makes up the majority of the wall parallel to the door, save for the tables full of ingredients and stones and herbs in both corners of the room. 

She can hear him muttering something about his father and a betrothed. She pauses her work, looking at the sage that is burning with narrowed eyes. She puts it out jealously, before realizing herself and calming. The prince is quiet, watching her with a strange infatuation. She can feel his gaze on her, and she flushes. “I’ll help you get settled once I finish cleaning up,” she throws over her shoulder, not wanting to face him until her cheeks returned to their normal alabaster color. “Pardon?” he asks incredulously. She turns, confused. “What?” He narrows his eyes. “I am not staying here. Send me back right this moment,” He commands. She turns fully, crossing her arms. “I cannot. We have a full thirty days until the next full moon, so unless you want to get lost in my world and never be able to return to Zaii then I suggest you get used to cohabitation,” She hisses, her voice of that same authority. She strikes the final blow with, “You have no power here, your money and jewels mean nothing. So you will do as I say or you can kiss Zaii goodbye.” She looks him directly in the eyes, showing that she isn’t kidding. He meets her gaze for a moment, but she can see distraction behind his eyes and he cracks a smile. “That rhymed.” He laughs heartily at her blank expression, crossing to her. “I am Maximus, son of King Albus and Queen Alora,” he introduces, bowing slightly. She looks at him like he’s crazy, which he very well could be.

****************************

“So you will stay?” Marie asks, for the fourth time now. Max has already visited the bathroom and eaten the sandwich she made for him, but she still can’t believe he’s staying. He sighs, wiping his face and leaning against the counters in the kitchen. She blushes slightly, finding his frame quite attractive. She blinks and looks up at him, but he’s looking past her at the clock above the stove. “Are you going to say anything else?” He asks, his accent sharp and voice deep with something she doesn’t entirely understand. She looks away, willing the color from her cheeks. “You must understand my position, Max,” she insists, and he purses his lips at the shorthanded nickname. “I’ve been trying to contact other worlds since I was a little girl. My life’s work has finally borne some fruit!” 

She looks into his eyes and he holds her gaze until her embarrassment forces her eyes to the ground. “I understand.” His voice is low, and his eyes never leave hers. She hears her phone buzz and his eyes dart to it. It’s sitting on the counter and awaiting her response. She walks over to it, and the notification is an email from her landlord, something about construction on the fire escapes. She shrugs and turns to address Max but he is right next to her, and she starts. 

“What is this magic?” He picks up the phone gently, examining it. She quickly takes it from him, knowing he means well but not trusting his grip. “It’s technology. I honestly think its modern magic in itself, but it’s just electricity and gears and such tiny enough to be a watch,” she explains, setting the phone down and looking at him. “Honestly, it bogles my mind too.” She looks affectionately back at the device.

He smiles slyly at her. “I think I could grow to like this Earth.”


	2. The Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Chapter for you lovelies!  
> How is it so far?
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc

As it turns out, Max and Marie have many things in common. They both have insatiable curiosity, and they’ve spent their nights talking about their worlds. Marie learned of Zaii, which has four kingdoms: Libb, Fiie, Nerr, and Sacros, which was Max’s kingdom. Nerr and Sacros have a strained relationship, and Max fears that they will go to war. Marie also learned that he has two brothers: Jackson, who is older and has twin daughters, and Olivier, who is younger and unmarried. In turn, she tried to teach him of the politics and culture of her world, but soon they both disregarded that. It didn’t make much sense anyway. Marie allowed him to sit in during some of her little spells and rituals, but her powers were, for the most part, a mystery to Max. 

Many a time, in the month that they were forced together, the pair found themselves in compromising positions that left a color abroad both of their cheeks. Marie was beginning to have strange feelings about Max, ones she had never encountered in all of her sheltered life. Max fared no better, completely head-over-heels for the stunning, otherworldly sorceress. He reasoned that it was a good thing he had gotten away from his world and the drama it entailed. After all, the last thing he’d done before being pulled into the strange portal was get into a fight with his father about being betrothed. Marie was exactly the kind of excuse he would need to get his father off of his back, and it helped that he actually liked her.

*********************************

Too soon, the next full moon arrives, and Max sits anxiously by the mirror as he watches Marie work her magic, wearing what he had on when he first came through the mirror. He has to admit, the clothing in this world is extremely comfortable, but also extremely dull. Marie had forced him to shave the day before due to the fact that he didn’t have a beard when he left, yet his stubble has already started to grow back. He keeps his gaze trained on her, tracing the lines of her fine hands and face with his eyes. She seems so enchanting, he had initially thought that she put a spell on him, but he slowly started to realize what he feels for her. When he sees her slicing her fingers, he lurches forward, grabbing her hand. She shakes him off, but he can tell she isn’t used to the pain. She draws a strange symbol onto the mirror, mumbling the last two words, and the mirror begins to radiate a bizarre gold. She gazes longingly at the mirror, absently healing herself. He looks at the mirror as well, suddenly conflicted. 

“Come with me.”  
“Can I come with you?”

The pair laughs after speaking in unison. “Of course,” Max says, thankful that he didn’t have to convince her. He holds out his hand, and she quickly puts her spell book into a bag that holds a few other things, taking his hand and following him into the mirror. The transition is strange, like walking through a pool of cold water but not getting wet. Next thing he knows, he’s back in his room. Everything looks the same as it was when he left, and he hears the heavy laden footsteps of what could only be Jackson stomping up the stone steps to his chamber.

Marie is quick to disenchant the mirror and set her stuff behind the bed as the door swings open, revealing his older brother. Marie looks at him with interest, but before Max can get jealous she tears her gaze from him and examines his room with awe. Jackson takes in the scene, his brows shooting up his forehead. He storms over to Max, gripping his arm as he pulls him away from Marie, who was acting oblivious. Jackson doesn’t know her well enough, but she doesn’t miss the sass of Max’s sidelong glance. “Is this why you refused your betrothed?” Jackson asks in a fierce whisper. “To dally with some oddly dressed chambermaid,” He hisses, causing Max to bristle. If Marie is offended by this, she doesn’t show it. “She is not a chambermaid, she is my friend,” he retorts angrily, looking over Jackson’s shoulder to see her observing some maps, but he can tell she is eavesdropping.

Jackson scoffs, “Your friend? I have never seen this wench before in my life,” he challenges, only sparing her a second glance. Max growls slightly, extremely put off by his insults, although Marie doesn’t seem to care. “She is of no consequence to you. She is my responsibility,” Max snarls, and now Marie bristles, obviously not liking his possessive tone. Or perhaps she does. Jackson glances at her, curious now that Max can’t explain her.

He suddenly realizes that he has no way to explain her, and it seems like no time has passed since he left. Luckily, she steps in, suddenly right in front of him and thus between him and Jackson. Jackson yelps, a rather maiden-like action, backing away. Marie looks him up and down before looking back at Max. “Eldest?” She asks, and Max nods, slightly dumbfounded. She turns back to Jackson, and puts on a charming smile. “Greetings your highness, Prince Jackson.” She curtsies deeply, her bewitching eyes never leaving his. Max watches, unsure. Jackson looks at her incredulously, also uncertain of how to react. He turns to Max after a sharp bow in return, and he looks at him questioningly. 

It is then that Max notices that his brother’s anger is practically non-existent. He glances back at Marie, his lips tight with suspicion. “Yes, this lovely vision is Marie. She is a sorceress from another world,” Max explains, and Marie looks back at him with a forced smile that screams ‘What did you just say?’ He shrugs nonchalantly. Jackson sighs, waving him off. “Just do not be late for the banquet. If you will not go with your betrothed, then take this… lovely… sorceress.” He gestures to Marie, obviously unconvinced that his words were truth. “I do not care, just make an appearance.” He turns to leave, but halts when Max speaks. “To please Mother and Father?” He asks sharply. Marie can tell this is a challenge, but it seems Jackson doesn’t take the bait. “Yes,” he grits out, teeth clenched, “And you will be there,” he growls, finally making his exit. Marie glances at Max, who is also seething. _This is a family of wolves. I’d better be careful._

Instead of letting Max stew in his angry juices, Marie asks for a tour of the castle. He shows her around the grand hallways, allowing her to gape at every little bauble. She marvels at the architecture, which is like nothing she’s ever seen before. A smile rests easily on Max’s face as he introduces her to Jackson’s twin girls. She beams at the children, clicking with them instantly. Dalilah and Daphne question her playfully, giggling in delight when she grows an iridescent flower out of nothing but light. She shows them other innocent illusions, mostly involving light and vapor swirling around each other in a lovely little dance. They both fall in love with Marie and her magic, whining inconsolably when Jackson tells them it is time to go play outside so the banquet can begin and shooing away the older pair.

In lieu of that, Marie asks Max to help her outfit herself for the banquet. He laughs with her as they go over the ridiculous fashions in the royal closets. Max decides to take her to the Silks Shop in the town, the one where his mother usually gets her gowns from, to make her a few dresses that are all her own. The seamstress, a barrel of a woman with thin fingers, sharp as the needles she works with, pokes and prods at her. She quickly takes a thousand different measurements, and has her apprentice, a reedy girl who is all elbows and stringy red hair, sketch up a few designs with the help of Marie’s descriptions. 

After hours of cutting and sewing and madness, Marie’s first dress hangs elegantly on her slight frame. It is gorgeous, a deep emerald that matches her eyes. It is something of a silk sundress with long sleeves, tight around the bust and flaring out attractively at the waist, fluffing out down to her knees. There are multiple layers of pale chiffon, under the skirt and over the silk slip she is wearing, to keep the flare shape, and the many layers shudder at her movements. She spins, her heart fluttering happily at the appraising look in Max’s eyes. 

Suddenly, there is a flock of guards in the doorway, and Max turns to them questioningly. The leader stumbles over his words slightly, unsure of himself. “The prince requires an audience,” the guard finally manages to spit out. Max raises a brow worriedly. “Olivier?” He asks, looking at the leader expectantly. “Prince Jackson, your highness,” he explains with a slight bow, moving quickly out of his way. Gripping her waist, he whisks Marie down from the seamstress pedestal, and she follows him quickly out of the shop and into the awaiting carriage. 

When they arrive at the castle, the very air seems grim. Max’s worry grows as they make their way to the throne room through the winding hallways. Had the mood been lighter, Marie might’ve made a joke about the needless maze, but she stays silent. Max bursts into the throne room, Marie in tow, and immediately things seem grave. Jackson’s wife, Bessa, is hysterically sobbing in his arms, and even Olivier is present, along with the King and Queen, whose expressions are severe. 

Jackson catches sight of Max, and his eyes fill with hope. “What is it, brother?” Max asks, his deep voice laced with concern. Marie hovers slightly behind him, her skirt fluttering plaintively. Jackson nearly chokes on his words, tears welling up in his coffee colored eyes.

“The twins are missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo  
> Havoc


	3. Arguement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little short, just bear with me.  
> xoxo  
> Havoc

“What do you mean ‘missing’?” Max paces the room, but Marie stands eerily still. He can tell that her mind is racing, and that she is obviously affected, but he looks expectantly at Jackson nonetheless. It is Olivier who answers, however. “They were playing in the meadow just outside the castle, but now they are nowhere to be found. The front guards reported to have lost sight of them, and then they were gone, too. We’ve sent out multiple search parties for both, and so far they’ve come back with empty hands,” he explains grimly.

As if on command, a group of guards escorting what looks -and smells- to be a fish merchant bursts through the door, turning every head in the throne room sharply towards them. Every head, that is, except Marie’s, who was already facing that direction when they entered. Max looks at her dubiously, for this isn’t the first time she’s made him wonder about the extent of her abilities. “This merchant says he’s seen your daughters,” the man addresses Jackson with a bow, breathless. 

Marie eyes the merchant, noting his nervous ticks and distressed expression. Whatever news he is here to deliver, Marie doubts that they want to hear it. The merchant quickly removes his hat, wringing it apprehensively in his hands as he searches for the right words. “I seen your li’tle girls, I did. I’m afraid they was bein’ stolen away by some bandits,” he gulps, quickly adding, “I threw my rod at them, I did, shoutin’ af’er them, but they go’ away,” he explains, his eyes trained on the floor. “I’m no warrior, my lords, but it didn’ si’ right wif me to jus’ turn my ‘ead,” he finishes, although his courage seems to have been used up. 

The King gazes at him, and Marie can see his emotions fighting behind his eyes. He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he looks down, allowing his grief and frustration to betray his features. “First the damned war, and now this,” he growls out, his voice truly that of a king as it vibrates through the large throne room. “Did you see their faces? Their clothes?” Jackson bites out, holding a newly hysteric Bessa tightly. The merchant shakes his head belligerently. “No sire, I didn’ recognize any o’ tha scoundrel’s faces. An’ they wore black cloaks, no othe’ markins.” His eyes sweep around the room. 

Marie taps over to the man, who looks at her blankly as she takes his hands. She can feel the sea grime on them, but doesn’t back off, sending a soothing vibe into him. He visibly relaxes and his mind opens up. She searches his thoughts, locating the correct one and etching every detail from the memory into her brain. She catches sight of a crest on the hilt of one of the bandits and her eyes fly open. She releases the man, turning back to Max with a slightly wobbly gait. Max quickly lurches to steady her, looking at her quizzically. 

“Paper, a pen, per favore,” she pleads, holding onto Max slightly longer than necessary. A butler rushes away, coming back quickly with a thin, tanned parchment and a pencil. She says nothing, just takes it and drops to the floor, using the pristine marble as a surface to write on. Max wavers over her before stepping back to give her space. She hastily scribbles the crest from the memory onto the paper, and as she finishes Max’s eyes widen. The King comes up behind Max, his eyes watching Marie as she stands and hands the parchment to Max. Now the King’s caramel eyes, so similar to Max’s, are wide as well. Marie looks at Max expectantly. “Nerr,” he states simply, returning her gaze.

The King turns his gaze to Marie as well, looking from her to Max with a curious expression. Max drags his eyes away from Marie’s, turning to address his father. “This is Marie, she is a sorceress-” Marie’s nails suddenly dig into his arm, giving him a warning look. He swallows the latter half of the confession, tentative. The King studies Marie with fervor, trying to assess her danger level as a ‘sorceress’. Max can see hostility beginning to form and his mind races with ways to defuse the situation. “And, um…” He continues, simply to recapture the room’s attention, “Yes, um… She… She is…” He glances between Bessa and Jackson, an idea forming, “… She is… the woman I want to marry,” he finishes hesitantly, casting a sidelong glance at Marie, whose expression falters. 

The King looks terribly taken aback, looking at Marie with a new light. She lifts her head, as proud a smirk as she can manage in her current state pulling at her lips. So he wants to play games? Play ball. The King turns back to Max. “Is this why you refused your betrothed?” he asks in a quiet whisper, but Marie can tell it’s just a courtesy. She’s standing right there, after all. Max heaves a heavy sigh. “For the Maker’s sake, yes,” he exclaims, gesturing to Marie. “Can you blame me?” He stares down his father challengingly. The King glances back to her with an appraising once-over, and tilts his head considerately. The Queen, who had glided over curiously, slaps him playfully on the chest, but her eyes hold a warning that only the King seems to fully understand. She turns to Marie, and she can see that, conflicting with the Queen’s ornate dress and sparkly headdress, her features are plain but not ugly, with icy blue eyes and dark charcoal hair. 

“Please, do not take offense at my husband’s words,” she puts a slight, barely noticeable emphasis on husband, “But you must understand that we had hoped to marry our second son off to the princess of Libb, to aid in our making of an alliance.” She glances from the King to Max, fleetingly, before her gaze rests on Marie. Max looks vaguely miserable at his mother’s words. She regards the Queen for a moment, her lips pursed in thought. “Perhaps,” she begins tenderly, “You should’ve thought about his feelings before promising him to a stranger for nothing more than a political marriage,” she says softly, but not unkindly, and her challenging eyes rise meet the Queen’s. The Queen looks at her, perplexed, speechless, and slightly ashamed at the truth in her words. 

Before things can get worse, Max butts in. “That doesn’t matter at the moment. There are two little girls out there that have been kidnapped, and our only lead is this,” he holds up the parchment, glancing at Marie for assistance. “I read the merchant’s mind, and I saw that crest etched onto the hilt of one of the bandit’s blades,” she explains with fervor, gesturing to the crude drawing. The King looks at her, baffled. “You… You read his mind…?” His bushy brows furrow unsurely. She holds up one hand, forcing a flourish of flowery magic to swirl around her palm and down her wrist, letting it fade quickly. “You forget I am a sorceress?” Her voice is as florid as her magic. The King looks unsure, but nods hesitantly and turns to Jackson, who seems to have calmed Bessa considerably. “So those Nerr infidels want a war? They’ve got it,” He growls, and Jackson rises angrily, clasping hands with his father. “I’ll kill every last one of them myself,” he snarls in response, looking a Max with a hopeful gaze. Max stands a little straighter, placing a hand to his heart. “I pledge to you that I will rescue the twins,” he says formally, and then, with more faith, “I promise you, you will have them back.” 

Marie nods agreeably, stepping up next to him. “We should start looking in the town. Perhaps the townsfolk know more about the local ruffians,” she implores, her hands clasped behind her back as she bounces on the balls of her feet eagerly. Max looks back at her, reluctantly shaking his head. “You can’t come with me,” he commands, to which she snorts, leaning back and crossing her arms. “And you can’t go without me,” she retorts frankly. “It is too dangerous.” He considers her carefully, and she purses her lips. “Those two little girls are out there right now, who knows what has happened to them, and you’re arguing against having a sorceress as powerful as myself on your side?” She questions hotly, clenching her jaw defiantly. He presses his lips tightly together, watching her for cracks in her expression. She looks at him unflinchingly, her emerald eyes fiery with conviction. His shoulders sag, recognizing that this defiant look meant he had no chance of changing her mind. Marie smirks victoriously. 

“I’ll get my coat.”


	4. Nerr Bandits

Max grumbles slightly, pouting about how easily Marie had won him over. His only consolation is that Marie hadn’t disputed Max’s plan, although she looked as though she wanted to. However, it’s hard to stay mad as he sits in the rumbling carriage and watches as Marie beams inquisitively at his world. She looks as a kid in a sweet shop would, her eyes darting to and fro at the forest scenery. He smiles adoringly at her, seeing his world in a new light as well.

The carriage stops abruptly, sending Marie and Max tumbling into each other. They work to disentangle themselves, but suddenly Marie freezes, bristling. Max strains to look outside the window, seeing shadows scurrying about. Marie’s pupils are slits, and she crouches into a sneaky position as she escapes the carriage silently. Two men grab her as her feet touch the ground, but a gout of fire blasts them back and keeps Max nailed to the floor of the carriage. A third man goes at her with his sword, sending Max into a panicked frenzy and he leaps out and tackles the bandit. Marie lunges for the discarded sword, beheading the man Max is holding with sharp flick of her wrist. The fourth man looks at the scene, terrified, and dashes away. Marie curses, grasping the blade and following him, Max on her heels. 

They follow him to a dilapidated shack, and Marie casts a warning glance to Max as he unsheathes his own sword. “No, we must take care not to alert them. If the twins are there, they could very well hurt them if they know they are in danger,” she whispers fiercely, her eyes darting around the shack. Max grips her arm. “Then what would you have me do?” He whispers with equal fervor. She grins that cunning little grin, and his stomach drops, knowing that whatever is about to happen is something he isn’t going to like.

And he’s right. He curses under his breath as he stands outside what he hopes is the front of the shack. He glances to Marie, who signals him to play his part as she sneaks around the back. Max takes a deep breath and roars loudly, drawing about seven or so bandits from the forest and rousing about a dozen more into the front. They size him up, each grin more wolfish than the next. Suddenly, Marie is in front of him, and he is forced to the ground as a flash of bright heat blinds him temporarily. When his eyes readjust, every bandit that had surrounded them is now smoldering like a bomb went off. After considering the wreckage, she looks down at him despairingly. 

“The twins weren’t there,” she whispers, even though they were alone. Her head snaps towards one of the dead bandits, crossing to him and searching harshly through his charred clothes before pulling out a parchment that has been scorched beyond legibility. Her shoulders sag, defeated. “These were from their boss,” she says, showing him the half burned seal of Nerr. Max rises, growling in frustration. “And you burned them,” he hisses. “I can fix them,” she snaps, “But it will take time. We need to explore other options, in case the potion doesn’t work.” She tucks the singed scroll into the bosom of her dark coat, pushing passed him. “We’re doing this my way.” 

*************************************

After she sets the parchment in the potion, Marie follows Max down to the throne room. Jackson stands when they enter, his eyes that of a broken man. “Did you find anything?” He asks, and Max glances at Marie. “We found letters, but…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily, “…uh… they were burned,” he finishes, with a furtive glance at Marie. “I’m working on restoring them, but for now we were planning on going into town and trying to find them from the inside,” she explains quickly. Max gives her a look, but she ignores it. 

Marie is suddenly aware of a presence in the room, and turns to come face to face with Olivier. He starts, not expecting her movements. He smiles sheepishly at her, running his hand nervously through his longish, sandy brown hair. After realizing he is staring, it is a moment before he speaks. “Um, I heard that you were aiding my brother in finding the twins,” he inquires. She raises a brow at him. “Well yes, you were in the room when I insisted upon it,” she muses. His cheeks redden, his cerulean eyes dropping to the floor in embarrassment. She grins at this, finding it cute. She rests a hand on his arm, too short to rest it comfortably on his shoulder, and looks at him encouragingly. “Don’t fret, we will find them,” she reassures. 

His eyes widen slightly, shame rising in them. Her brows furrow, and she prods into his mind, her own eyes widening slightly when the first emotion she feels is not worry, but a strange emotion that Marie cannot decipher. She knows she cannot linger, flashing a polite smile at his boyish features to distract him before gently removing herself from his mind. Only then does she turn back to Max, who is watching them with a strange intensity. Marie looks at him questioningly, and his eyes are masked once again. She makes a note to ask him about it later, when they don’t have an audience. 

Max strides over to her, looping a strong arm around her waist possessively. She is even more confused, blushing slightly and looking down to hide her own embarrassment at his touch. Olivier is just a few feet from them, looking dejected, and Marie can’t help but wonder why. “We should get ready,” she murmurs, looking up at him with a coy smile. “You won’t be easy to disguise.” 

*************************************

Max groans for what has to be the seventh time since they began walking to the town. He is dressed like a sort of coal miner, and she has effectively smeared a charcoal-like substance onto his face to hide the handsome. Marie is dressed as his little wife in a well-worn seamstress dress and a raggedy old coat. “Did we have to walk all the way from the castle to the town? We could’ve taken a carriage-” Marie sighs, aggravated. “For the third time, there are thieves and ruffians along every path, from the castle gates to the sewers in the town,” she hisses quietly, her eyes darting about as she grips his arm tightly, “If we took a carriage, they would send word to the main bosses, and our operation would be doomed from the start,” she finishes, giving him a warning look. He grumbles, knowing that she is right but not liking it nonetheless. 

When they get to town, their feet are sore and their backs ache. Their first stop is The Tick’s Tap, a local inn and tavern, and a favorite hangout for the less-than-respectable. They push through the heavy doors and into the tavern, where a bull-like man tends the bar and a stout, pig-faced woman sweeps the sandy stone floor. There are crowds of poor shop keepers and meek blacksmiths and birds of every skeevy feather hoisting flagons joyfully to celebrate the end of the day. Marie looks at Max warningly. “Let me do the talking,” she whispers, sweeping her eyes around the tavern.

Marie locks eyes with a suspicious, rat-like merchant hunched over on the far corner of the bar and she grins. She pulls Max over to the man, not looking at him and keeping her eyes on the barkeep as she takes the seat next to him. She signals the barkeep for a drink, which he delivers promptly to her. She takes a sip, marveling at the odd but not unpleasant taste. Her eyes are trained on the racks of gourd-like things hanging in the back. “So where would a girl go to get some information around here?” She doesn’t ever look at the man, be he knows she’s talking to him. “Who wants ta know?” He croaks out, his shifty eyes roaming over her. “Didn’t know this was a business of names,” she responds shadily, adjusting her hood. The man regards her for a moment longer before sliding a small square of parchment with a pencil her way. She scribbles two simple words:   
_Nerr Bandits._

She slides it back, taking another sip of the bitter spirits. It burns as it goes down and she watches as the man rises, his hunched figure gliding to a door in the inn, beckoning them. She follows him slyly, slipping into the door way with Max following her clumsily, obviously not used to being sneaky. The man eyes Max warily before he turns his gaze to Marie and speaks with an accent thicker than molasses. “A group a dems swoop’d drew town a day o’ so ago, dey ain’t said a word ta nobody, just wen’ ab’ut deir business, and den I catch word o’ a kidnappin’? Das wot you’re ‘ere about, ain’t it? Dem li’tle girls?” He drawls, studying the pair suspiciously. Marie nods, her expression hard. The man sighs, and her heart drops. _He knows nothing._ “Wish I ‘ad somethin’ for ya, darlin’, but da’r ain’t a lick a nothin’ about dems,” he admits morosely. 

Max grits his teeth. “How do we know you’re not lying?” He asks before Marie can stop him. The man looks at Max with wide eyes before turning his fiery gaze sharply to Marie. “Ya brought da Prince ta see a me? Ya’ve bloody ruin’d me, if wor’ gets out-” Marie silences him harshly with magic. “Then don’t tell anyone,” she hisses sharply, her eyes darting back to the door. He nods, more than a little frightened at being suddenly mute. She releases him, casting a warning glance Max for the third time. Max whispers this time. “Well?” The man looks cautiously at him, sighing again. “Jus’ cus we’re scoundrels don’t mean we ain’t gotta ‘eart. Li’tle girls are whe’r we draw da line,” he explains vehemently. Max scoffs. “Well, it is certainly nice to know that refuse have boundaries,” he snarls dryly. Marie disregards him, looking at the man. “Please, you must know something,” she pleads, “somebody that saw them, anybody?” The man shakes his head, looking at her with honest regret. “Dey took real care a dis one, I ‘eard dat only a fishe’man caught sight a dems,” he drawls sullenly. Her lips purse in thought, her brows furrowed heavily. She turns with a sigh. “Contact me if you find anything else, per favore,” she throws over her shoulder, pulling Max along and out of the room. 

The tavern has grown livelier since they’ve been busy, the patrons well saturated in the strong spirits. They move cautiously through the crowd, careful not to bump anybody too hard. The last thing they need is a drunken brawl. As if on cue, a burly blacksmith stumbles into Max, who steadies the man. “My-” He quickly catches himself, changing his voice to a deeper, much gruffer tone. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he burrs heftily. Marie jolts slightly, surprised at how different he sounds. The blacksmith blinks, patting him cheerily on the shoulder. “Goo’ man,” he slurs, continuing his stumbling to the bar. Max looks after him, a grimace slipping onto his face. Marie takes his arm and quickly, albeit gently, pulls him out of the inn. “Besotted fools,” Max says, his voice returning to normal. A smirk pulls at Marie’s lips.  
“That was unexpected,” she states, allowing her voice a twinge of praise. She grins at him, and he smiles despite himself.   
“What can I say?” His smile widens, and they turn their backs on The Tick’s Tap, beginning the arduous walk back to the castle.


	5. The Letter

On the way to the castle, they are attacked again. The bandits are shouting about the pair’s deception, and Marie is careful to freeze a few of them solid instead of incinerating them like last time. They fight heartily, dealing with them the old-fashioned way: a blade to the chest. Marie picks through the frozen ones, finally pulling out a slightly damp parchment bearing the seal of Nerr. They both rejoice, and Max reads it aloud. It speaks of the intended war and of a journey that the Nerr princes intend to make into Sacros territory. They hurry to the castle, the rest of their journey fortunately uneventful. 

When they return, they both collapse onto the marble of the large foyer, if something so ornate could even be called a foyer. After practically running the rest of the way, they are beyond exhausted. The maids scurry about them, stripping off their coats and prodding them to stand. Max is the first to comply, groaning like an old man. The maids rush him away to scrub him clean of the charcoal and return his appearance to its normal, princely manner. Marie, on the other hand, presses her dirt smudged cheek to cold marble, lying lifelessly as the servants attempt to convince her that a bath would be better than the floor. 

She grumbles, but suddenly she is scooped up by, none other than, Prince Olivier. She yelps, surprised. “My lady,” he greets courteously. She purses her lips. “My, Prince Olivier! You gave me quite the fright,” she says courteously, batting her lashes at him and causing his cheeks to redden. She grins victoriously, always pleased to see her charms succeed. “P-please, call me Olivier,” he requests, his eyes not leaving hers. “Shall I carry you to the bath house, my lady?” His eyes shine with childlike excitement, and she can’t help but comply. 

The maids scrub her with soft, thick sponges, and wash her amber hair and dirty skin with a soap that smells like snickerdoodles. It is a wonderful feeling, if a bit embarrassing, and she shoos them away to do the personal bits herself. She dries herself and her hair with magic, making her freshly washed locks cascade down her back in soft curls. When she comes out, dressed in her black robes, Olivier is waiting for her. He can’t help but look her over, causing them both to flush, but she smiles politely nonetheless. 

“My brothers are busy reporting your findings to our father, so I thought perhaps you would like a tour of the gardens?” He asks, hopeful. She smiles curiously, taking his outstretched hand gracefully. “That would be lovely,” she grins at him and he beams. He leads her through the maze, and when they finally exit the castle, the sight she sees causes her to gasp. 

Garden is not a good enough word for the beautiful field of art before her. The space has to be as large as three football fields, with rivers and villages of flowers and bushes and trees that she’s never seen before. So many that she was sure that cataloging each plant would take years. They are organized in a very visually appealing manner, some sections holding a mix of flowers with complimentary colors, others flushed in a monochromatic scale. Some flowers don colors and shapes that she can’t explain, and the overall beauty of this overwhelms her. 

Marie doesn’t notice the tears until Olivier wipes them away, his piercing blue eyes laced with concern. She dismisses it with a wave. “Ah, I’m not upset, don’t you worry. It’s just…” Her eyes sweep across the garden, trying to take it all in. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers, her vision unfocused. He smiles at her, taking her hand and leading her to trellises of periwinkle flowers that look similar to roses. She relishes in examining them, ghosting her fingertips over the soft petals as she senses a slight property of magic in them, her mind racing with possibilities.

He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted. “Olivier, might I ask what exactly you think you’re doing?” Max’s voice barks out, his words clipped in such an angry manner that even Marie shrinks behind Olivier. Max strides over to them, gripping Marie’s elbow gently but firmly and pulling her from Olivier, who looks challengingly at Max. He doesn’t release her hand. “Brother,” he hisses, “I thought you were busy relaying the news to father?” Max’s eyes narrow, burning holes into him. Olivier wavers only slightly, waiting for an answer. “Jackson is tending to it, so I thought I might as well bring Marie along. After all, she was the one who discovered it,” Max explains sharply, looking at a confused and torn Marie. She nods at this, wiggling her hand free from Olivier, a heartbroken look crossing his face so quickly that only Max sees it. “He’s right, I should attend to this,” she grins at Max, oblivious to the reason behind the rivalry but wanting to break the tension anyway. “He just doesn’t want to admit I was right,” she muses playfully, turning from Olivier and allowing Max to pull her to the doors. She throws a smile over her shoulder to Olivier before she is pulled completely inside. 

When the doors swing shut, she digs her nails into Max’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “What the hell was that?” She gives him a hard look. Max swallows, obviously not yet accustomed to how well she is able to play off such a situation. “What do you mean?” He asks, not looking at her. She huffs. “Don’t play coy with me, prince,” she hisses, crossing her arms, “Why do you care so much that Olivier spends time with me?” He looks back at her fiercely. 

“Because I-” He stops, catching his surge of emotion as a messenger bursts through the doors to the garden. He nearly jumps out of his skin at how close to the Prince he is, panting as he hurriedly hands him a letter. Marie examines the messenger as Max reads the letter, noting his bruising cheek with curiosity. She suddenly feels anger coming off of Max and turns to look up at him. He looks down at her, handing her the letter. She scans it thoroughly, her eyes widening.

It’s a ransom letter.

**********************************

They burst into the Throne Room, rushing into one of the open doors on the far wall to see the King and Prince Jackson hunched over a war map. They start when the pair enters, and Jackson looks hopeful. “A ransom letter,” Max pants, setting it on the table. Jackson snatches it up, skimming through it with wide eyes. He hands it to his father, his jaw clenched. “I’ll pay it,” Jackson grits out, “That price is nothing for the lives of my daughters,” he looks pleadingly at the King, who doesn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. “You will not,” Max and Marie say together, glancing at each other. “We will find them and bring them back, killing their kidnappers,” Max explains, and Marie nods. “It’s all that they deserve,” she continues. 

“Damn it, you don’t understand!” Prince Jackson roars, slamming his hands down onto the table and startling the pair. It is now that Marie notices his appearance; the stubble on his jaw, his thinning locks, the darkness under his eyes, even his skin looks grey. His eyes reflect his shattered heart, the normal caramel color of them now a somber brown. Her heart clenches, her expression softening. She places her hand on top of his on the table. He lifts his head slightly, gazing down at her as she soothes his mind with magic. 

She returns his gaze. “When was the last time you slept?” Her voice is soft, and it seems to linger in the air. It reminds Max of that first day he met her, when his tensions slowly drifted away simply because of her words. Even as she says this, Prince Jackson’s eyes are drooping. She blocks the bad thoughts from his mind temporarily, and he collapses into the chair behind him, out cold. The king rushes over to him, looking at her curiously. “He will sleep well, and the things that worry him will not trouble him until a few hours after he awakens,” she explains. The butlers whisk the prince away with surprising efficiency, making Marie wonder how often he deprives himself of proper rest. The king watches silently before he turns his relief-stricken eyes to Marie. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to get him to bed,” he says with the hardy voice of royalty, “Perhaps you wedding my son is not so bad an idea,” he adds thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the battle map. 

Marie’s head snaps to Max as she remembers his proposal. Her nostrils flare in a promise that there will be further discussion on the topic. She takes the ransom letter, and turns to the king. “I will work on magically tracing the owner of this letter, but in the meantime, you should also get some sleep, your highness. Nerr is counting on all of you to be out of commission due to restless sleep and fretful dreams. Let’s not bend to them,” she offers with a slight curtsy, pulling Max into the Throne Room with a not-so-gentle tug. 

“Why did you say that?” Marie looks at Max expectantly. “That you were going to marry me,” she specifies when she receives no immediate answer. He glances to the War Room and pulls her further away, leading her to his room. There, she mimics her previous expression, but this time she accompanies it with a sassy hand-to-hip gesture. He sighs and looks around, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I could see that things were going to get tense, and the only way I could’ve got them to accept you was to say that I wanted to marry you,” he explains slowly. She narrows her eyes. “Do you?” She asks, and he raises a brow. Max turns to look at the maps on his wall with another great sigh. Marie could feel the nervousness radiating off of him, and she crept silently closer to his back. 

By the time the prince turned his head she was barely a foot away, and he starts slightly. “Why are you so nervous? I don’t understand the emotions I can read from you…” She studies him as she says this, tilting her head. His eyes widen. “You- You can read my thoughts?” He asks uneasily, and she snickers. “I can,” she begins with a smirk, “But I was referring to the emotions I’m feeling from you,” she explains with a slightly knitted brow. It is then that Marie prods into his mind, touching the tips of her fingers to Max’s sleeve to establish a connection. Strange waves of thoughts and images flood her vision, and she is only more confused by what she sees. 

She removes her hand, her vision returning to normal. She sees Max looking at her with scarlet cheeks and furrowed brows. “D-did you see those? Those… those thoughts?” His voice wavers, and she realizes that her own face is flushed as well. “I…” she pauses, considering what she saw. “I hope you are aware that I do not know the extent of my flexibility,” she says finally, her head tilted. “I fear your fantasies may be a tad unrealistic.” Max covers his face, his embarrassment evident. He looks away. “Why don’t we just drop the subject for now?” He walks to the counter underneath the map, gently picking up the burned scrolls. “We’ve got work to do.” She gives him one last look, indecisively worrying the hem of her sleeve before she strides over and gets to work on the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Concerns?  
> Hope you guys like it!
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc


	6. The Hideout

The letter proves very easy to trace, at least magically. Marie has the location within an hour, but when she looks over at Max, she sees him drifting into sleep. She pretends to continue working on it until she hears his breathing even out, prodding into his mind to assure that he’s asleep. She then crafts a note that tells of the location and is riddled with reassurance. She slides it deftly under his arms, careful to keep it out of the puddle of drool that is already forming beneath his chin. Her lips press against the top of his crown tenderly, leaving her family crest painted onto his right temple. She silently whisks her cloak on, giving him one last look before dissipating into a night shadow. 

The location from which they sent the letter is a cave that is rather nearby, and Marie is crouching in the bushes by its entrance in no time. Three guards… No, four. Shouldn’t be a problem… She moves silently into a clearing close by, then purposefully makes audible foot-falls as if she were lost. With a well-trained ear, she hears a murmur of apprehension from the guards before a stern voice demands, “You two, with me. We can’t risk this location being discovered. You, stay here and watch for any intruders.” Marie nearly rolls her eyes, but instead she swiftly gets into position as she hears the heavy footsteps grow near. The first guard comes into her line of sight, quickly followed by the two other ones. She whispers the incantation, blowing an iridescent green mist towards the group. It spirals like smoke around their heels, quickly dispersing higher and silently suffocating them. They drop, the thud of their bodies causing Marie to wince. She hears the footsteps of the fourth guard, panicking and turning into a shadow as he gasps at the scene. Marie rushes her shadow form into the guard, possessing him with ease. She scans his thoughts, behaviors, and attitudes, adapting to how she should act as she tries to ignore the exclamations of the other mind. She walks stiffly back to the man’s post, getting accustomed to running his body. Then, without further ado, she enters the cave.

The guard Marie had hastily possessed was a relatively new one, according to his memories. This is good, no one will be overly familiar with my captive. She walks with a natural gait, giving a small nod to her fellow guardsmen, who looked too drunk, or too tired, to care about her presence. Probably both. “Those damn li’tle girls,” she hears one of them drawl, her ears perking. “It don’ sit righ’ wif me.” Said guard slams his tankard onto the wooden bar, a strong liquor sloshing over the sides violently in response. The scrawny one next to him pats his shoulder. “I’s no’ like we hur’in ‘em,” he reassures in a very thick accent, although he looks more like he is trying to convince himself.

Marie’s blood runs cold, and she quickly scans her captive’s memory to see where the twins are. She gets flashes of a dark room, and two bruised girls with bound wrists. Her blood then boils, and it is all she can do to not simply shed her meat suit and spread a cleansing gout of holy fire onto these filth. She stays her blade, instead following a strangely familiar route down to what looks to be dungeons. The prison guards are laughing merrily, and she scans the dark room for signs of the twins. There, that enclosed cell… She strides towards it, not hearing the words of the guards calling after her. She feels two pairs of hands on her captive’s arms and yanks herself free, whirling around and placing her palms to their foreheads. They scream in agony as she brands them with _the Curse of Sanguine_ , the sprawling rune searing tracks into their flesh as they bleed from every orifice. She continues her path to the cell, melting the door and stepping through to see a frightened and dirty male prisoner, but no twins. 

Marie’s brows furrow angrily, and suddenly her captive is grabbed from all angles, held down on his knees. She looks up through his eyes to see the eldest prince of Nerr, Mathias, as the other man’s memory recalls, staring down at her. He was tall, dark-haired, and roughly prince Jackson’s age, with a deep set scowl in the crease of his brow. She grins, slipping out of the guard’s body and sneaking away as part of the shadows to watch the scene unfold. The man looks up at the prince in sheer horror. “O-oh M-M-Maker!” The prince scoffs at his prayers. “I-I-I was possessed! I-I was! S-s-something took c-control of me, I-I-I swear,” the man exclaims, quivering visibly and audibly. Prince Mathias dawns a sadistic smile, and unsheathes his gilded sword. “Oh yes, I could say that something did, in fact, take hold of you for you to be able to do that,” he gestures to the two prison guards who are now writhing on the floor, drenched in their own blood. “But honestly, I don’t care.” The glint in the prince’s icy, blue eyes was enough to send a shudder down Marie’s shadow form, and she steals away into the night to avoid seeing the execution.

She lingers around the entrance of the cave, and soon enough the prince emerges. “It is time to be done with this camp,” he says to two of his large bodyguards. “Raze it. I want no survivors to tell of what happened here. I will go to the holding place to make sure that the preparations are going well, meet me there when you finish,” he growls coldly, and the guards don’t even flinch at the command. They turn, weapons drawn, and follow through with his orders. Prince Mathias is then escorted to an awaiting carriage, one that Marie is quick to attach herself to. The remainder of the prince’s bodyguards do not board the carriage, instead turning to join the other two and demolishing the evidence of their presence. The coachman snaps the reins on the buck-like creatures leading the carriage and it lurches into motion.

The prince thumbs leisurely through some parchments from his coat like a bored housewife, sighing as he looks out the window of the carriage with an expression akin to boredom. Marie sinks into the coach, her form becoming tangible but not recognizable as she lounges across from him, looking out of the opposite window. “I can see that you are displeased with the progress of this scheme.” Her voice is layered with many different tones and pitches, echoing greatly in the small space. The prince nearly jumps out of his skin, his heartbeat audible to her trained ears. He presses himself against the opposite side of the coach, trying to put as much distance between himself and the strange demon sitting across from him as possible. She settles her shadowy form into that of a tall, voluptuous, and stunningly gorgeous blonde and crosses her long legs gracefully. Her voice is still slightly layered, and her irises bloom red to remind him of her supposed species. 

Marie looks at him expectantly, repeating her prediction. Mathias nods slightly, still wary of their proximity. Then, something clicks behind the prince’s eyes, looking at her anew. “You,” he mutters, “You’re the one that possessed that damned guard,” he states with an accusatory tone. “Of course,” she leers, raising a brow. “You didn’t actually think that weakling was responsible for the curses on those guards, did you?” she asks condescendingly. He flushes at his own stupidity. It’s obvious he hadn’t even thought about it. His gaze turns defiant in desperation, another obvious tactic. “What do you want from me?” he asks, summoning up a front of courage. “The girls,” she states simply, her eyes glowering at him. “You see, those cute little twins possess a strange amount of magic. I want them under my lock and key, but I need them alive.” She pauses for effect, peering down her nose at him. He furrows his brows. “So, you aren’t working for the king of Sacros then?” He seems dumfounded. Marie laughs, a wicked, curling sound that shakes the defiance from the prince. “The king?” She looks at him, satirically incredulous. She pauses, then changes her expression. “You are serious?” She asks, raising her brows. He nods, unsure. “Of course not! That proud man turned me away the minute I offered my help, simply because of what I am. I admit, I would have been sated with simply studying them in close quarters, but now that he has thrown my kindness in my face, I want them for myself,” she explains, with just the right amount of embellishment and passion to be completely convincing. The prince sits forward. “Then work with me! I want my kingdom to flourish, and conquering Sacros is simply the first step,” he hisses with conviction. 

Marie sneers at him to hide her surprise, leaning forward. “Perhaps we have misunderstood each other,” she begins, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I will kill you where you sit,” she states, her eyes opening and locking with the prince’s fiercely. “This is not a request. It is a demand, and a warning. You will either give to me the girls willingly, or I will possess you and take them by force,” she snarls, moving a perfectly manicured hand to grip his knee threateningly. “And I must warn you, the bodies I possess wear out quickly, and you will die soon after I vacate you,” she growls warningly. Mathias swallows visibly. “And what do I get out of this?” He asks, his voice slightly unsteady. Marie chuckles, mirroring the sadistic smirk of this once fearless prince. 

“Your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that my chapters might be a tad on the short side...  
> Hmm, oh well.  
> Tell me what you guys think in the comments below!
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc


	7. The Castle

The holding place is actually a large stronghold that has been built into the side of a Nerr mountain just across the border between Sacros and Nerr. Prince Mathias has yet to speak after Marie’s threats, simply sitting in silence, plotting. Marie, of course, could read everything he was thinking, and after the first few hours she voices this to him, merely to silence his mind. It works, until he starts up again not twenty minutes later. Finally, she casts a spell on him that draws him into a deep, mindless slumber, sighing at the peacefulness. 

A few more hours go by, and Marie sees the foreboding structure from the window. Had she not read the prince’s mind, she might have gasped at its sheer size. She coaxes the effects of the sleep spell out of the prince, watching him slowly awaken. He looks at her with wide eyes, his unmoving muscles stiff from disuse. “Did you possess me?” He croaks haltingly, his expression strained with thinly-veiled terror. “No, you tiny child,” she insults, rolling her eyes. “I charmed you to sleep because your busy thoughts would not stop,” she explains sharply, muttering something about an insufferable plotting. He looks extremely relieved, resigning himself to returning his muscles to normal. 

As they get closer to the stronghold, Marie begins to feel nervous, although her stone cold face shows no such emotion. If they have harmed a single hair on those precious little girls’ heads… She presses her lips together tightly. The carriage comes through a large iron gate at the entrance, and next thing she knows the door is opening. Mathias makes a discreet signal, and Marie makes a move to ask him just what he thought he was doing when the guard begins speaking of the condition of the twins. 

“Take me to them, now,” Marie commands, looking at the prince with malice as she steps out of the carriage behind him. “Oh, I will,” he states, and suddenly she is grabbed from either side, her wrists cuffed behind her back with shackles of a strange, magical metal. That sadistic grin slips onto his face. “Those are corpnium cuffs. They bind demons and evil entities, prohibiting them from casting their wicked spells,” he explains, barking orders to his men.

“Put her in with the twins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter, and a cliffhanger at that!  
> I will update the next chapter as soon as I finish it!
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? I will be posting all of what I have right now, so you don't have to worry about cliffhangers just yet ;D
> 
> Please, comment you thoughts: If you liked it, hated it, can't tell yet, blah blah blah.
> 
> xoxo  
> Havoc


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